Life in Technicolor: Act One
by Karrin Akisha
Summary: "Just because I'm telling this story…doesn't mean anyone's alive at the end. Yeah…it's that kind of story." Starting with Mass Effect, the story retold through the experiences of a space pirate who joins the crew in the race against time to save the galaxy from the Reapers. A crossover fanfic with CrimsonSkiesVII's called: Mass Effect: White Wolf Shepard/OC/Garrus love triangle.
1. Start Here: Author's Forward

**Forward:**

04/23/13 – WORK CURRENTLY ON HOLD FOR REVISION UNTIL 04/25/13

Greetings and salutations (or 'hi' for short). My name is Karrin Akisha and this is the revamped, rewritten, and renewed version of _The Normandy Chronicles_, secondly named _Serendipitous_, now concretely titled _Life in Technicolor_.

I decided to do an author's forward although this isn't a novel but I wanted to give you, the reader, a little insight as to what the hell it is that I'm doing.

First and foremost, this work exists as a challenge to myself because I have hundreds of unfinished story fragments I have written over the years. None have been completed for one reason or another. Also my husband goaded me into posting this work because of all the time I had invested in its conception. Personally I wasn't going to do this, but this has become a labor of love for me and I wish to share my personal vision of my Mass Effect Universe and its associated characters with you.

Secondly, this work will take on a route similar to what J.J. Abrams did with the new Star Trek movies. It's Mass Effect in its most elementary sense, with its foundation intact. But I will say this; this isn't EA's Mass Effect that's for damn sure. This work is just a humble fan's journey into the emotional aspect behind the people we have grown to love in our own ways, with a few added original characters and the addition of the non-canon external media into the mix.

Thirdly, the title of this work has been changed three times. I know my previous followers and readers are like "what did you do and WHY?" I understand. However, there was a reason and here is the short version:

The work is titled _Life in Technicolor_ because of the deeper meaning of the phrase, coupled with Garrus's ME2 quote about how he didn't know what to do with 'gray,' or technicolor in this sense. I realized that as children we have this very simplistic outlook on life or the 'black & white' outlook if you will. But as we come into our preteens, the veil is ripped from over our eyes and we start to see the world for the colorful nature it truly is. We then begin to ask the harder questions about life. How many times has one of us told someone, "I know what _you're_ saying. I understand. But, _what if?_

It is the answers to this question that color our adult lives and shape the way we see things as a whole.

In addition to this, I started to see a trend throughout the trilogy. Every character, from our custom created Commander Shepards to the minor characters like Conrad Verner, has a crisis of this idea at some time or another. We all know about Garrus; but even the innocent Tali goes through this when she becomes friends with Legion and begins to understand that maybe the geth aren't as bad as the Admirals have made them seem.

It's an idea we all struggle with as part of the human condition and the recurring theme throughout.

As one of my favorite authors said in her forward of EndShard, "It is so very important to remember that Mass Effect will signify and mean something different to each and every person who has played all three games in the trilogy." For all intents and purposes, Karen Politte is right. The Mass Effect I may know might be something entirely different to you. The Shepard you have created might mean something different to me. Whereas you might see him as a bastion of salvation, I might see him as the eternal asshole. My male Shepard (Commander Mark, aptly named for his voice actor) has a personality in my work that is a blend of characters from Captain Kirk (a hard-driving leader who pushes himself and his crew beyond their limits), to Jean-Luc Picard (deeply moral, highly logical, and intelligent), with a little cockiness of Tony Stark of Iron Man and a little misplaced heroism from Captain Malcolm Reynolds. This is my interpretation of Shepard and I deeply hope that you will enjoy reading about him as much as I am with writing him.

Second to that, his stats are as follows: Spacer, Ruthless, Vanguard class. His back story varies only slightly, as I didn't want to lose the whole essence of the character. As my husband has been quoted to say of him, "he's a jackass with a good heart and a clear head. He knows where he's from and knows what he wants."

**Now that I have completely bored you with my inner ramblings, here is a list of things I thought you should know before you move on.**

- This season (as there are 4-5 planned depending on where this goes) has gone through a major transformation; however, my OC is the same as before, just coming from a different perspective and with a more well thought out history. My own personal reviews, my husband and best friend's reviews, and your reviews, feedback, and suggestions will eventually shape this season into its completed form. However, only most of the kinks have been worked out and I am writing this concurrently with another Mass Effect/Leverage themed crossover, Mass Effect story based on The Notebook with FemShep & Garrus (swoon…), and playing through the first game for reference.  
- Rated M for adult language, situations, themes, and violence (the same reasons the game is rated as such). **WARNING:** If you are queasy with certain sexual situations that aren't necessarily moral, taboo, and consensual (Or are just plain xenophobic. That was a joke.), then turn back. This is your warning. Those situations will be mentioned and hinted at, but not explained in-depth for their sensitive nature.  
- _Life in Technicolor_ takes place in an alternate universe to the established canon, but I didn't want to completely lose the essence of the grandiose Mass Effect-verse. If you are a 'purist' and don't appreciate when the author deviates from canon, then don't go on. Simply said. Also, my OC's background and adventures interweave through some of the comics and books (which aren't classified as canon anyway), so there will be spoilers from that area.  
- This work is primarily a situational drama/comedy, mainly from the OC's POV and will get very dialogue heavy from time to time. I didn't choose a specific genre because all genres appear in some way.  
- Lastly, the main missions will be written in depth (Eden Prime – Endgame) and the crew will accompany Shepard on all of them (since in ME3 they all speak as though there were with you anyway, plus I think it is bullshit that you have a ship full of competent and helpful people and they don't aid you). As for the UNC missions and other side missions, they will be mentioned in passing (unless directly related to a specific character, then they will be written in depth).

**DISCLAIMERS:**

- Mass Effect and related copyrighted material contained within are owned by EA (used to be owned by BioWare before they became indoctrinated by EA).  
- Any references to Pirates of the Caribbean and related copyrighted material contained within are owned by Walt Disney Pictures and Jerry Bruckheimer Films.  
- Any References to Firefly, Serenity, and related copyrighted material contained within are owned by Mutant Enemy Productions, Joss Whedon, and 20th Century Fox.  
- Any references to Star Trek and related copyrighted material contained within are owned by Desilu Productions, Paramount, and Norway Corporation (among numerous others).  
-The 'Forgotten Legion' and subsequent references contained within are because of a great writer named Mothbanquet and his fanfic called: **Mass Effect: Interceptor**. Mucho thanks for his permission to use his story as a background for Garrus and my OC, since there is none established canonically for Garrus and overall, it was a fun read.  
- Some of the episode names are linked to songs that I like. May or may not link to actual lyrical content and meaning.  
- The OC, her family (save for her father), her crew, and other misc characters not specifically created or mentioned by BioWare are my creation and mine alone.  
- If you are a Mass Effect fan and read a lot of fanfic like I do then you might have stumbled across Myetel's fanfic, the _Spirit of Redemption_ saga. If not, I highly recommend it. I call it a saga because it is epic. It is beautiful. It is perfect. Only the turian language and biology (and in later chapters, all other species) is taken from the Spirit of Redemption Wikidot, Story: section, under Species. I am going to put some terms here because they are commonly used because by my OC, others will be mentioned in the A/N as they are only used in the episode.

**Turian terms used abundantly throughout the season:**

_amila_ – sister  
_compara, comparu, comparae_ – mate (male), mate (female), mates.  
_dimicato'fradu_ or _dimicato'amila –_ battle-brother or battle-sister (Used more towards the end of the season)  
_ecus_ – knight, or hero (Used more towards the end of the season)  
_fradu_ – brother  
_futtari –_fuck  
_mada_ – mother  
_s'kak –_shit  
_talas'kak –_literally, _talashae_ shit. A human would say horseshit or bullshit in context.  
_vates –_Father, formal, genitive; _vatu_ is nominative (_padu_ is informal, like 'dad' or 'daddy')

**FINAL NOTE:** Please, don't take this work too seriously because I am having fun delving deep into the proverbial black hole that is my imagination. Just sit back, read, enjoy, and please provide feedback at your convenience. Feedback is greatly appreciated rather it's negative or positive. Just don't flame. That's just rude. If you don't want to openly review but think something doesn't sound kosher, then PM me. I'm affable and won't bite.

Thank you again for sitting through this entire thing and I hope you enjoy season one of _Life in Technicolor_.

Keelah se'lai (and my favorite one, tequila se'lai) my friends,

Karrin Akisha


	2. Prologue: Last Resort

**Life in Technicolor: Season One**

**Prologue**

**Last Resort**

_"Fate, it seems, is not without a sense of irony." – Morpheus, The Matrix_

_Extended synopsis: As a last resort to her growing troubles, an atypical pirate with a mysterious past stows away in a crate unknowingly bound for the SSV Normandy SR1 as Alliance Commander Mark Shepard gathers his team to hunt for the very spectre who's currently gunning for her blood. Tensions flare when her connection to the mission is revealed and the question arises: is she truly a friend or foe? The answer eventually puts Shepard in a position where he has to choose between his sense of duty to the Alliance and who lives and dies on Virmire. _

_The answers to these questions lie in Season One of Life in Technicolor, so read on and enjoy._

* * *

Navigating the twelve foot high chain link fenced labyrinth of service corridors, I rounded a corner and skidded to a stop at the sight of a caged area that I quickly realized was being temporarily used as the shipping and cargo area for the docks. My silver and luminescent eyes frantically scanned the area for either an emergency exit I could exploit or a place to ensconce myself from the officers pursuing me. At the very least, I needed to disappear and I needed to disappear fast.

As for the 'blueberry brigade' – the comical moniker I'd bestowed upon the black and blue armored idiots of C-Sec's Patrol division – they were probably lost in the maze and far enough behind me that I could afford to waste a few precious moments to think past the adrenaline, confusion, frustration and figure out where I was headed exactly. At least it was C-Sec chasing me and not Fist's thugs this time.

C-Sec had pistols. Thugs had shotguns. C-Sec had protocols. Thugs had none. These facts alone were making this that much easier.

The sheer size and scope of the area made me growl in annoyance. I figured that if I couldn't find an alternate route to the upper docking bays, which it didn't look the odds were in my favor right this moment, then my last resort would be to hide in one of the many crates and bide my time until then. Although hiding seemed almost as impossible as getting to the upper docking bays because there was an Everest-like mountain of the different colored square-shaped objects of all sizes imaginable, some strewn on the floor, others stacked floor to ceiling. Out of these, there were none of which I could immediately tell of they were filled to the brim or empty.

_Spirits be damned, _I breathed in exasperation.

It was until that exasperated moment that I realized that I was so utterly naïve for being selfish and not considering the full implications of my decision to stay behind. I _should_ have hopped the first shuttle out to Palaven and forwent the disastrous effects of its atmosphere, leaving my petty issues against the planet, the general, and his new wife behind me. I _should_ have thought about what staying behind really meant and how fast the impending situation would get out of hand. Lastly, I _should_ have realized he would have spies on the Citadel and could track me faster than I could escape, which had already happened.

Shit. Now? Now I have to wait until tomorrow to catch the next shuttle out, which I didn't know if I'd even be alive to board the metallic transporter. As a teasing gesture, the general's orders replayed in my mind.

_Do as I say…and that's an order, soldier!_

Whatever frustration I might have had for my current set of obstacles, the larger part of it was aimed towards the detective who probably sent the blueberry brigade after me in the first place. I considered the consequences of letting them arrest me so I could give that prick a huge chuck of my mind. But lately, with _my_ astoundingly bad luck, I would probably be caught by the spectre who wanted me dead and experienced a slow and painful death as my mada's locket was pried from my cold dead fingers.

I began to hyperventilate in anxiousness of the unknown.

I quelled the anxiousness fast because I knew I was being my overly dramatic and unreasonably paranoid self about this. But the locket I was carrying was exigent and if the information encoded within slipped the net to fall into the wrong hands, like a rogue Spectre or the Shadow Broker, it would spell disaster. It could start a war of galactic proportions and honestly, I didn't want the deaths of billions of people on my hands. I had enough baggage following me around as it was and I didn't need more.

I commenced to roll the smooth, warm piece of silver between my fingers. To someone who didn't know any better, the ornately laser etched locket seemed like a sentimental trinket that hung loosely from my neck and under my shirt from a thin chain made of twisted threads of Palavenian silver. When opened, a holo appeared of my parents would appear…you know, the standard talisman of sentimentality. On the other hand, the hollow inside housed a specially designed nanodevice that held an encyclopedia of files, dossiers, documents, and journal entries from various sources from around the galaxy. You know…the quintessential digital dirt on every government and politician that was and still is in power.

Honestly, it would have been smart to go to the Council with this information and turned it over to the rightful authorities. Hell, a good little citizen would have because of the stigma it held behind it. But I was a pirate, a galactic degenerate, and every other negative epithet that the galaxy had conjured for my 'type'. Would they have even listened to me? Wait…would they have even _entertained_ my presence in their elitist chambers? Probably not.

The main question was if I could press myself to relinquish the information and not play to my…oh so evil ways.

Hell no.

The answer to that question and the fact that the locket held such scandalous, juicy, and heinous secrets that I was genuinely curious about; had become the root of my problems.

Aside from my spectre troubles; I'd been mutinied against by my first mate. My ship (the Diamond Rose, the ship I'd shed my fair share of blood to obtain) had probably been destroyed by now. And my crew – my ragtag group of like minded degenerates who I placed in the same vein as family – had been scattered or worse…butchered in the most macabre way possible.

I swallowed the large lump of bile that had risen in my throat at the very thought of it.

It was because of my curious moments that I wish my mada hadn't instructed me to protect the locket in the first fuckin' place. Under any other circumstances I would have given it to my older amila, Tatiana, since she is the sentimental one of the progeny and has most of our mada's things. Since it was the last thing she had given me before she died and I happened to watch the whole ordeal, I held it as close to my heart as utterly possible. It also quelled the grief of leaving my more halcyon days behind and I _sometimes _found myself opening the locket like a lost child and staring longingly at the turians who had rescued me from Shanxi. Yet another bullet on the long list of reasons I kept it.

That was _such_ a bad idea. I _should_ have tossed it.

Why? Because this whole conundrum that I have found myself in was all kick started when I received a nasty cut on my hand during a training match with the bodyguard of my crew, Urdnot Krull. In my moment of childish mischievousness, I squeezed just one small single droplet of blood onto the sacchariferous image of my smiling parents. I didn't think anything of my mada's warnings and in response to my DNA signature, the locket immediately illuminated an odd luminescent blue and began its data transfer into my brain; digital dirt I later realized was highly classified and dangerous from her career in Blackwatch.

Dirt that could get me killed by governments. Dirt that people were killed for to obtain. Dirt that made me realize that in my moment of curiosity, I had become public enemy number one if anyone had known what I had known.

_Like I needed a stick to crack my head with._

When the process finished (it took less than a minute), the overwhelming surge of raw information short circuited the nerve transmitters in my brain, plaguing me with multiple seizures and placing me into a fully aware, but physically paralyzing catatonic state. To make matters even worse, I watched helplessly as my xenophobic bastard fradu took the ship by force for his own petty purposes and dumped me on Altakiril to die.

As the old anger against his actions rose within me again, my eyes finally landed on my salvation. _Thank the fuckin' Spirits. _Lonely and set apart from the others was a matte black crate that was big enough to ensconce myself and my shoulder bag that held my personal effects. Taking the random chance that this particular case was empty enough to fully submerge myself into, my hurried hands scurried over the interface for my omni-tool and I bypassed the holo-lock's circuitry.

I didn't even glance at the ship name or insignia that was displayed on the case as I was too busy trying to save my own ass. Once inside, I severed the small circuits to the lock. Aside from a few small boxes of ammo rounds that would be a literal thorn in my back, there was more than enough room for some comfort so, I uncurled my legs and poised myself, yet still rigid enough to pounce if those C-Sec idiots decided to _accidentally_ uncover my whereabouts.

Hell, I hadn't been granted the name lulamanirae by my amila for nothing.

I laid my head awkwardly on my arm and played in the waiting game. Waiting wasn't something I particularly loathed because it gave me time to clear my head, meditate, and gather my bearings. Philosophy wise, I wasn't a student of Buddha or deeply religious by any means but my mada had been and she made it a point to teach us meditation, which did come in handy for me in times like this. In contrast, our beliefs in the Palavenian Spirits and most of my personal turian quirks came from the general's forcibly influential nature.

As I began to iron out a concrete set of plans, suddenly my sleep deprived eyes burned so horribly that I felt a compulsion to rub them right out of their sockets, accompanied with a brain wracking migraine. It was a brutal sign that it had been ages since I'd probably experienced a restful night's sleep and thinking about it now, I actually couldn't really _recall_ the last time I'd actually slept.

_Then again, I'll sleep when I'm fuckin' dead._

My musings were interrupted by the C-Sec pawns that had finally rounded the corner and I could vaguely hear their muffled conversations as they combed the area for my whereabouts. I unholstered one of my black matte, opalescent handled, specially modified one of a twin set of Desert Eagle Mark XIXs, and waited for that opportune moment where I would spring from the top and go out in a blaze of glory like the cowboys of the old western earthen legends.

The crate shook; I thought I had been made; and the adrenaline in my bloodstream rose to dangerous levels. I was alert, rigid, and ready to pounce. Sadly, the moment never came as I could hear the growl of Executor Pallin through their radios, calling off the search to investigate a more important skirmish that had erupted with a human and Fist's thugs in Chora's den. I released the long breath I'd been holding and quietly sat it down on my makeshift bed near my head.

For once in my life, luck was finally on my side.

Or so I thought.

Feeling more relaxed and less inclined to shoot someone in the kneecaps, my eyes involuntarily drifted shut and my brain succumbed to the fatigue of my body. As a result, I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep for what felt like the first time in years, not realizing that the irony of the universe had something else planned for my fate.

* * *

**A/N:**

**_lulamanirae_ – Lula; Little. Manirae; tiny omnivorous raptors no larger than a terran mouse.**

**Please provide feedback. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Thanks. XOXO**


	3. Episode 1: Don't Panic

**Episode 1**

**Don't Panic**

**_In the Normandy med bay…_**

Although Garrus was definitely frustrated that the troublesome pirate had found a way to smuggle herself onto a state-of-the-art warship, he wasn't all that _surprised_. Truth be told, the ex-detective wasn't truly surprised at much of anything anymore. Being forced into the military at the age of fifteen and policing the lower wards for most of his young adult years had stolen _that_ innocence from him. Not to mention that the pirate's antics had shown him that what he'd learned in academy held no practical use in reality.

Rather it was by sheer coincidence or her conscious choice, it seemed that everywhere he turned on the Citadel – and now here on the Normandy – that impish woman had been there with that smug grin of hers and causing nothing but chaos, leaving a trail of bruised and battered officers in her wake. Garrus thought she did it to get under his plates mostly, since Executor Pallin would always assign _him_ and his old partner, Detective Chellick, to investigate her cases.

Before he could allow his mind to wander into that painful place in his heart where she always seemed to burrow herself with her beautifully deadly smile, he reminded himself that she was a public nuisance and reveled in the joy of disrupting the tranquility the Citadel Security Services was tasked to uphold.

Nothing more…Nothing less.

He realized that it was only _when_ he decided to disappoint his father and quit the prestigious civil service organization he had been born into, had been the moment he'd finally caught her red-handed for an offence that could get her thrown behind bars for decades. Had he gotten _his _way, Garrus would have gladly done the honors and personally dragged her into HQ himself; but what stopped him was his new CO's insistence against backtracking to the Citadel.

Karma was a bitch, no doubt. Her fate was in Shepard's hands and there wasn't a damn thing Garrus could do about it now.

As he and Commander Shepard stood vigil over the woman to make sure she didn't escape to terrorize anyone else, he tapped his razor sharp talon against armored side, wondering exactly _why_ the weathered commander had taken such an infatuation with her as quickly as he did.

From the moment Commander Shepard waltzed into Dr Michel's clinic and praised him for his actions in taking down Fist's thugs, Garrus assumed that his new CO was a man with a sense of honor towards those who obeyed the law, and dropped the gavel on those who decided to shatter the law into little pieces. Even if that might have been a hasty assessment, he was a Spectre and Alliance Military, sworn to uphold the laws of the galaxy. Because of this, _the commander shouldn't have liked her at all, because…_

"Olivia Marcellus is a pirate and a wanted criminal, Commander," Garrus cautioned, trying to appeal his case completing his own train of thought, "she _should_ be escorted back to the Citadel to be processed, tried, sentenced, and jailed for her misdeeds."

From a cursory glance Garrus could see Shepard fold his arms over his armored chest in deep contemplation of the turian's words, his lapis lazuli eyes stone set on watching the woman in question's ragged breathing.

"I know Vakarian, you've already informed me," his voice held that martial edge as the commander threw up two fingers for emphasis, "_twice_ during your earlier explanation of this you and woman's history. Honestly, I have half a mind to agree with you. But," the commander paused, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, "you _did_ say that she might have information on Saren that could tank him _and_ could procure us some fine high grade weapons…right?"

"Uh…" Garrus hummed and ran his hands through his fringe because he had a feeling that he knew exactly where this conversation was headed.

He really didn't want her on the ship for an extended amount of time or anywhere near _him_ for that matter. If she was willing to share her knowledge on the rogue spectre to Shepard to aid this mission, then that was acceptable as long as she was handed over to C-Sec promptly after. He knew she also had connections to underground and illegal manufactures whose weapons were state-of-the-art and vastly better than the Hahne-Kedar and Aldrin Labs weaponry they had onboard and it would only prove useful if she provided the licenses, then again, be promptly handed over to C-Sec.

However sweet the setup had sounded to the untrained ear, this just wasn't enough to convince _him. _However, to appease the man who'd allowed him the honor to join his mission and allowed the turian to complete his investigation outside C-Sec, he conceded hesitantly.

"If anything she says can be trusted, then sure," he shrugged nonchalantly with one of his shoulders, "she might know something of value. She also has numerous connections in the illegal weapons market." He promptly released a sigh of exasperation, trying to contain the frustrated low growl in his sub-vocals as he continued. "But she _is_ still a fugitive from C-Sec and this is the first time there has been a clearly defined offense against her that she can't possibly escape."

"Wait." The commander shot the turian a quirked eyebrow and partially turned to him. "You're telling me that this pirate has gotten out of _your _custody before?"

Garrus scratched his brow plate idly, his eyes beginning to smolder with the rage at the _fonder_ memories.

"Not…exactly, commander," he admitted grudgingly, "it's a little more detailed than that."

Garrus didn't want to go into too much detail since the whole situation had been complicated and infuriating on his end for so long. Eventually he broke down and explained through gritted teeth at Shepard's insistent glare.

"All the times I managed arrest her; she would use her knowledge of Citadel law to get herself out of the arrest. Then if that didn't work," he rubbed his metallic forehead, his exasperation hitting a peak, "she would convince Executor Pallin that I wasn't following established protocol and he would release her on principle. Either way, the longest time she spent in custody was maybe a day."

"You sound _extremely _bitter." That ghost of a smile finally brought the corner of his lip skyward in a grin.

"Severe. _Understatement_." Garrus replied dryly and shifted his stance.

Commander Shepard was still on the fence with a decision about exactly what to do with the woman he couldn't seem to steal his eyes away from when the doctor; whom they both forgot had been sitting there, listening; decided to chime into the conversation from her location in front of her terminal.

"If my opinion counts for anything on this warship, Commander," the two men shot her their startled glances as she grabbed a datapad and moved towards them, "I say we should, at the very least, speak with her when she awakens, not ship her back to the Citadel as Mr. Vakarian here wants."

"Why?" Shepard arched his eyebrow, the same sentiment plastered on Garrus's face.

Chakwas ran her finger over the datapad, landing on the image of the pirate's brain scan and handed the datapad to Shepard. The image in the palm of his hand piqued his interest just that much more. _It was obvious that her-_

"As you can see, her beta waves are abnormal." Chakwas explained, completing Shepard's thoughts with her hands respectfully clasped behind her back.

Shepard nodded slightly to Chakwas in understanding and turned to Garrus with concern. "Do you think she came into contact with another beacon that we don't know about?"

Garrus shrugged again and Chakwas responded in his stead. "I doubt it. Her cerebral cortex damage was comparable to yours, including the temporary comatose state following the initial event. But there _is_ something else. Unlink how your incident was harmless in its own way; whatever did this to this poor young woman actually did permanent brain damage. The damage in question is located in her temporal lobe," she gestured to the dark spot on the corresponding image on the EEG, "which is involved in processing sensory input, comprehending language, emotion, and deriving meaning."

"In English, doc." Shepard joked with that cock-sure grin on his face.

Chakwas sighed in frustration, the tone under her words taking on one of a mother's reprimand. "Some outside synthetic source physically changed the way she thinks. Aside from the damage, she can access whatever data was encoded within her brain as an AI can access cached files."

"Now _that_ makes sense. Wasn't that much easier?" Shepard tested the waters again; then promptly wiped the grin from his face when Chakwas shot him one of her most seething of looks.

"Commander," the doctor cautioned on a more austere note, masking her frustration with him, "Long story short: she's mentally unstable, but a _genius_ in her own right." She promptly folded her arms under her bust and brought her emerald eyes to the pirate's breathing form, wondering what could have done this to this woman, and secretly hoping Shepard would take her explanation into account so Chakwas could run her own tests for informational purposes.

"Mentally instable is an understatement." Garrus deadpanned in response from his location next to Shepard.

The commander and the doctor fought a chuckle as he nodded in acceptance of the new information and returned to the woman's peaceful features while handing Chakwas back the datapad.

With this new information that had just been brought to light and under the scrutinizing glare of his favorite doctor, he made his final decision. A rationalization to his bitter compatriot was in order, so he turned on that martial grade professionalism, or in his mind, that 'commanding' tone usually heard when he was being deadly serious, or trying to give the rookies a run for their money.

"Dr. Chakwas is right. We need to question her when she awakens." Chakwas nodded to Shepard in approval and returned to her report on her terminal. "Now since we have confirmation for the _reason_ Saren wants her dead, whatever she knows might prove useful in finding him _or_ the conduit. Her logic could help us in tracking him or we could eventually use her to lure him out at some point."

"So…" Garrus hummed as his mandibles made one of those distinct turian gestures, exposing the rows of razor sharp teeth in a slightly respectful snarl, "you want to use a mentally instable villain to catch another?"

As much as he wanted to scold his new CO for being completely reckless, he didn't have a foot to stand on. He thought with his heart, never his head. It wasn't something Garrus would have thought of doing himself per se, but then there was a reason he was never in charge or tasked to make the harder decisions. Nevertheless, if Shepard thought that she could aid them in bringing down that blue-eyed bastard, then he would stay considerably nil on the matter.

In respect to officially joining the 'team' and being allowed to roam the ship unsupervised, Garrus still held his deep-rooted reservations against _that_. However, all of her good attributes like being surgical with any weapon she held could come in handy under the right set of circumstances; and what better circumstances than being on a military warship under the watchful eye of a Spectre?

Yet again, that little voice in his head admonished him as it always did when he decided that siding with her sounded like a good idea.

_You've been down this route before with her. You know she isn't one to be trusted with a weapon and left alone with access to sensitive governmental and Council information. She would use that privilege and extort us in more ways than one. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice…_

Shepard met Garrus's concerned and thoughtful look with one of confidence and humor, knocking the turian from his thoughts. "It always worked in the vids, right?"

When Garrus didn't share his sentiment as his face stayed blank, the commander's face puckered into a frown. "Alright, I'll interrogate her when she awakens. She's a criminal: there must be _something_ she wants or something she needs." Shepard brought his hand to rub the back of his neck. "If she refuses, then we play hardball your way."

"What if she doesn't refuse?" Garrus solidified his stance, challenging him because the commander's confidence was completely lost on the turian.

Garrus _knew_ her. He knew that Shepard would need more than just simple promises and mere credits to convince the pirate to turn from her usual ways of pillage, plunder, kill; and usually in that order. He needed collateral damage. Collateral damage that he didn't think the commander could afford to give because of his reputation and his ties.

Deep down inside, Garrus trusted Shepard implicitly and hoped his CO knew the full implications of what he was attempting.

Shepard grinned. "Then we're one step closer to catching Saren."

* * *

**_Four hours earlier…_**

A jerking motion forced my eyes to rapidly pop open and stare blankly into the darkness. _Shit, I really didn't mean to fall asleep._ However, I was distracted from my possibly fatal mistake by the muffled voices outside and I realized I was either being loaded onto a vessel or being taken somewhere else to be incinerated with the rest of the Citadel garbage.

Or even worse…_Spaced…_

The possible outcome frightened me beyond belief, but I figured I'd burn that bridge when I got there.

_If _I got there…

Opening the display on my omni-tool, I winced at the soft orange luminescence and groggily checked the time. I had been asleep for about five hours, which was enough to probably recharge me enough to function properly. Aside from having to avoid bright lights for a while from being in the dark for so long and because of the sensitive nature of my eyes, the only drawback of being stuck partially curled up in a crate was the numbness that plagued my appendages and would render me temporarily paralyzed. Though it was nothing a thirty second stretch wouldn't remedy.

None of that mattered since I had bigger things on my plate. Hopefully I was being loaded onto a ship and I decided if that were the case, then I'd go with the takeover plan.

My takeover plan included commandeering the vessel completely. I would disrupt the chain of command by capturing the captain and forcibly convincing the pilot by gunpoint to head for Omega, the central hub of organized crime within the Terminus and meet with my old friend Aria T'Loak to see if I could get a shuttle of my own.

It was a simple yet horribly clichéd plan even to me as I thought about it in depth. But plans like this had kept me alive and so far and so far, so good.

_Keep It Simple Stupid,_ I could hear the little bitch in my head say.

The case hit the floor with a thunk, jostling me around and making me muffle an audible grunt. Over the commotion, I could hear the engines start, the cargo hold depressurize, and the unmistakable moans of steel when a ship was released from the Citadel's dry dock. Immediately, the adrenaline began to work its way through my veins in anticipation.

I had been loaded onto a ship and it was time to execute round one.

**_- S01E01 -_**

Commander Mark Shepard – freshly appointed Council Spectre, Butcher of Torfan, and the new Captain of the SSV Normandy SR1– felt guilty as he reentered through the airlock with his newly acquired alien crew in tow.

In all honesty, he _should_ have been overjoyed that he'd been given command over the ship without strict Alliance overhead. It was definitely a promotion well deserved just as becoming the first human spectre had been. He'd been born into a proud space faring lineage that stemmed down from the first American to travel into space in the mid 20th. He was related by marriage to Rear Admiral Jon Grissom (who was related to Gus Grissom, the second American in space and a member of the Mercury and Gemini space programs in the 20th), the first man to take a team through the Charon Relay.

Aside front he familial connections, he himself had endured under the command of Major Kyle on Torfan, which got him the 'Commander' designation and bouts of nightmares. For all intents and purposes, he _should_ have displayed his medals proud. His mentor and father figure since his father's death during his childhood, Captain Anderson, was. He figured his mother, Captain Hannah Shepard, would be too when she received the news on the SSV Kilimanjaro.

But _he_ didn't…he felt unabashedly _guilty_, like he had stolen his father's priceless car for a joyride and whereas those emotions would have normally required him to step down, he instead turned to the problem at hand.

Saren Arterius.

Humanity needed to catch him, not only for his actions on Eden Prime. But for the colonists killed in the crossfire. For Nihlus. For Ashley's unit. For himself. For Garrus. For Wrex. For Tali. For Anderson.

Shit had definitely become personal.

Swirling within the emotions like a whirlpool in his core, he felt a slight sense of accomplishment. He – and inadvertently Saren's himself – got a turian and a krogan to board the same ship and collaborate on the same mission together without killing each other. Whether they would stay amicable after the cabin fever set in was still up for debate.

In addition, he also had an actual quarian aboard that was skilled with tech. Particularly he – as well as most of the galactic species – had a lingering curiosity of how quarians looked unsuited since they were always hidden under a mask and he hoped he'd catch a small glimpse during the mission.

He sighed. Shepard knew he had to address the concerns of the crew instead of his own petty issues right now because most of his crew looked quite frightened at the sight of aliens and a threatening krogan on their ship, so he marched to the helm. But before he could get one toe past the airlock door, Joker spoke.

"I heard what happened to Captain Anderson." He said dismally, keeping his emerald eyes trained forward.

Shepard approached the left of the helmsman's chair and clasped his hands behind his back, expecting _some_ resistance and the possible onslaught of curse words. Surprisingly, that never came. It was instead replaced with a sigh and a meeting of earth and sea.

"The man survives a hundred battles to be taken down by backroom politics." The helmsman shook his head, "Just watch your back, commander. Things go bad on this mission and you're next on the chopping block."

Shepard nodded in understanding because he knew the flight lieutenant was right. For one, Captain Anderson was too valuable of an asset to be shelved by politics and to have his command underhandedly snatched from him by a bastard like Udina. Secondly, if the mission was a failure in any way, shape, form or fashion; the political pitbull himself would definitely sick the wolves on Shepard and blame him for all the damage caused.

In any case, instead of looking at it as dismal as the pilot, Shepard used it as more fuel for the fire. There was too much at stake to fail. It just wasn't an option he was willing to consider.

"Saren's in the traverse somewhere," Shepard shifted his stance, "and we're _going_ to find him."

"Don't get your panties in a ruffle." Joker teased as he pointed his thumbs at himself, "Besides, everyone on this ship, including yours truly, is behind you one hundred percent."

When Shepard didn't return the humor, Joker snorted and brought his eyes upward again.

"I know you came here to address the crew. The intercom's open and now would be a _great_ time y'know, before we drive my ship into hell and back."

The commander took a breath and leaned forward, keeping most of the edge in his tone. "This is your Commander speaking. We have our orders: find Saren before he finds the conduit. As your new captain, I refuse to let _anything_ get in the way of that mission.

"We all know what happened on Eden Prime. We saw the destruction; we saw the bodies; we saw Saren's xenophobic actions against humanity and I plan to make him pay for what he's done."

Shepard slammed his fist on the panel, which made Joker jump. "For too long, humanity has stood apart from the others. Now it's time for us to step up and do _our_ part. It's time to show the Council what humanity is capable of and what we can accomplish with the help of our alien colleagues. Most importantly, it's time to cement our rightful place amongst the species of the galaxy.

"Our enemy _knows_ we're coming. When we go into the traverse, Saren's followers will be waiting for us. But we'll be waiting for them, with vastly larger guns and with a determination that he can't dissuade. This is the most important mission any of us have ever been on as the fate of the entire galaxy is at stake. Let this be our defining moment. Shepard out."

When the speech concluded and he could hear the cheers throughout the CIC, he stood upright and Joker again brought his attention to his CO, approving of the energetic speech with a slight nod.

"Well said, Commander. Captain would be proud."

Shepard turned on his heel and headed for the CIC, not before turning over his shoulder. "Anderson gave up everything so _I_ could have this chance. We _won't_ fail. Remember that."

"Yes, sir." Joker eagerly saluted and turned back to the controls of the ship to start on the disembarkation procedures from the Citadel.

Heading down the staircase and making a quick stop in the mess for a protein bar, Shepard decided that _now_ was probably a good time to give the non-Alliance crew a last out, since he didn't know the next time the Normandy would see the Citadel. The first one on his list after finished his bar was the turian.

But what he didn't know was that the mission parameters were about to change.

**_- S01E01 -_**

A heartfelt and long winded speech from the captain – I had half a mind to listen to, but didn't – and we were off.

Relief filled my little black heart.

After the local commotion died down to silence, I felt the subtle unmistakable lurch of a vessel hitting a mass relay. I activated my omni-tool and took a quick scan of the area for sentient life. It was mostly clear, save for an unsuspecting blip on my thermal radar. He or she, whoever or _whatever_, was going to get the surprise of a lifetime when my pistol met their temple.

Hopefully they weren't krogan. Now _that_ would be a disaster.

Calculating the time and how exactly I planned take to bring my target down and use him to my advantage, I silently and awkwardly exited the crate, removed my mask, and with my catlike grace, stumbled behind a massive vehicle that was clasped down nearby. Upon closer inspection with my gloved fingers exploring the deep tread of the tires, I was robbed of words.

The large object was a shiny and fresh off the line M35 Mako Infantry Fighting Vehicle. Multiple rumors circulated through the black market of their smaller size and lower weight from its predecessor: the M29 Grizzly; the usual tank most mercenaries and pirates used and I knew it could come in handy in the future. I made a note in my mental filing cabinet to personally drive this right out the bay, along with any other hidden trinkets, weapons, and whatever else I deemed worthy of my attention as my cargo.

Then it felt as though tiny needles were poking the ends of my appendages so I took a few long moments and stretched out my arms and legs, flexing my fingers to allow the blood to return. Once that was over, I snatched one of my pistols from my hip and crouched as I stealthily crept towards the blip.

_Time for the fun and games to begin_.

The symbols on their outfit and hat weren't clearly defined in the dim lights of the space, but what I could make out was the fact that he was human and a male. Even better for me. Humans were generally easier to take down than turians, krogan, asari, and batarians…unless they were biotic, then is would be a whole different ballgame. Turians could see and hear you coming with their extrasensory hearing, krogan can smell you coming from a mile away, and an asari would put you in a stasis and probably flee before you even got remotely close (unless they were a commando, then you never had a chance).

And batarians? Well…I didn't really know since I never let them get to that point.

Sneaking up behind him, I quickly caught the main artery of his neck in the crease of my elbow from behind and wedged the barrel of the pistol deep in his temple, leaving him enough blood and air flow through his throat and jugular to speak while he lost enough brain function so he wouldn't consider retaliation against me.

He opened his mouth and I addressed the visibly rattled man before he could scream; my growling and raspy voice quiet, accented, and close to his ear.

"Ya even utter so much as a _peep_ and I _will_ paint da floor with dat special color of human blood and brain matter gray. Ya dig?"

His head bobbled rapidly in acknowledgement. Obviously he must've been the rookie on the crew. Now if it had been me in his position, I would have used my leverage to flip him over my shoulder, disarm him, and then pop a cap in the back of his head.

_I fuckin' love rookies. So dependable, so resolute, so easy to mold…_

I flicked the safety for dramatic effect. "Now since we're good friends Mr. Rookie, tell me who da captain is and how many people are on board. Any answer I don't like or you decide to be da hero," his body winced as I wedged the barrel farther into his temple for emphasis, "I have no reservations against lodging dis bullet in ya pretty little eye socket."

I really wouldn't have. But _he_ didn't need to know that.

"Alright, alright. Just don't kill me. Please." The man hurried out in a hushed tone. "This is the SSV Normandy SR1 and the first human spectre, Commander Mark Shepard, is the captain now."

Damn, I should have really looked at the ship designation on that crate…_but that name_…I rolled it around in my head and it struck a methodical chord.

A file in my mental filing cabinet revealed a conversation I had with a particularly indignant batarian about Torfan and how a _human_ commander named Mark Shepard and his platoon swarmed his base and hunted his crew down, killing them brutally. Hence the moniker, 'Butcher of Torfan.' The rest of the information on the commander was lost because I shot the batarian and his cohorts for holding innocent women and children as slaves, plundered his base of operations, set the slaves free, and sailed off victoriously into the sunset like a futuristic Robin Hood.

Aside from this commander being part of the Spectres (which had to be a lie because Sparatus wouldn't have let a filthy human join the Council's best kept secret), how the hell did I manage to be carried on onto a ship full of trained military personnel? There was no way in hell I was going to get out of this in one piece.

_And there went the neighborhood._

On vessels like this, there had to be – at the very least – thirty, maybe forty military staff aboard including security detail, lower level crew, officers, and the spectre commander himself. The ship was also probably flagged by the Alliance and I would never make it to Omega in one piece, since the Alliance never 'negotiated with terrorists' and would blow the ship into heaps of unusable space junk with me aboard before I got too far.

_Fuck_. That luck I thought I had just a mere five hours ago…just ran out.

Frustrated that I'd been painted into a corner, I pistol whipped the man in the back of the head and upon impact, his eyes rolled back and I caught him right before he hit the ground, propping him up against the wall nearby and lacing his fingers over his chest to make it seem as though he had been simply fallen asleep on the job.

Only time would tell how long my presence would be kept quiet by how long Mr. Rookie would stay unconscious. I took the time to pace around the area as the gears in my head churned in formulation of how I was ging to use Mr. Rookie to my advantage.

**_- S01E01 -_**

Garrus Vakarian was definitely impressed with the SR1's Combat Information Center.

From just looking at the CIC alone, he knew there was no doubt in his mind that the rest of the SSV Normandy was a hell of a marvel of engineering. However, deep down inside and past his awe he still couldn't believe the abnormal set of circumstances that had led him here, let alone the consequences of those actions. Garrus knew he had landed the gig of a lifetime: he was on a state-of-the-art Systems Alliance warship that had been co-constructed by the Humans _and_ Turians with Council financing, and most importantly, he was free and clear of the C-Sec regulations and stipulations that normally held him back while hunting the man who gave turians everywhere a bitter taste in their mouths

It was everything he'd hoped for and more.

He was debating the consequences and the explanation he would give to his father when he heard the voice of their CO over the ship-wide comm. Garrus didn't listen to the speech verbatim, but the sentiment behind it definitely wasn't lost. What he gathered was that Shepard was reassuring the humans that he wouldn't let them down and they would catch that son-of-a-bitch together, a sentiment Garrus shared as well.

After the heartfelt speech concluded, he decided to wander down to the bowels of the ship hoping to find a way to make himself useful to make his new CO proud. Since he specialized in calibrating the firing algorithms of ground tanks on the turian warships he had served on in his youth, he figured he would do so on this one as well. He also wanted to see what hardware the commander and the Alliance had access to. If they were going to hunt down a rogue spectre and succeed, then they needed the firepower.

The service elevator led him down into a dimly lit shuttle bay. To his right he caught a glimpse of their lockers, the weapon's bench for cleaning and assembly of their weapons, and the armory lockers where he assumed the weapons were being housed.

The Mako was also on this side and his mandibles flicked in placid enthusiasm.

As he made his way to the tank his peripheral vision caught something out of place. When he cautiously approached the opened shipping container, he noticed that it looked as if either someone had rummaged through it or someone had been hiding within it.

Garrus let that detective instinct kick into high gear as he assessed the situation. Something was amiss. Someone was here that shouldn't have been and he could feel it in his gut. He knelt before the case to see if the intruder left anything that would give away their identity, leaving his ears open for any movement nearby.

As he rummaged through the contents, he came across the very familiar black and red shoulder bag _she_ carried that held her dismantled Equalizer, set of colossus armor plates, sentry interface visor, spare omni-tool bracelet she used for hacking numerous databases on the Citadel, and anything else she needed to put fear in the eyes of an innocent. If that wasn't enough to give her identify away, then her customized pistol resting in the bottom of the case was.

He knew that if his assertion was right, and she _was_ really here and roaming the ship unsupervised, then he needed to find her and find her fast, before she did her usual damage.

**_- S01E01 -_**

Coming up short of any _good _ideas (I attributed it to still being a bit groggy), I briefly considered hiding in the cabin of the Mako when I was rudely interrupted by the rhythmic clanking of armored feet that were quickly approaching my location. I slinked from my pacing and back into the shadows, hoping to avoid an open confrontation.

When I peered around the tank, I cursed myself for not closing the lid of the case and forgetting to grab my other pistol because the intruder was crouched over the case, sifting through its contents. My presence on the ship had been made, this was certain; yet, I could still diffuse the situation more easily with just one, or maybe two with Mr. Rookie being present.

As I caught the glimmer of his blueberry colored armor in the light, I wondered specifically why a turian C-Sec agent would be aboard a spectre vessel, let alone in the company of the prestigious Alliance Navy. Most turians and humans still held an absinthian animosity towards each other and would die before they collaborated on a mission with a filthy _human_. Plus, the Executor do-right Pallin wouldn't have sent one of his own boys to serve with a _spectre_.

This made no sense. What. So. Ever. But I also wasn't going to stop him and have a friendly chat about it, either.

The crucial split-second decision came easily as I didn't even let the officer rise from his crouched position. The barrel of my pistol was wedged in the back of his silver plated neck before he could blink. In response, his body immediately went rigid as he stood to his full height of 6'2", taller than my 5'10" and to adjust for the slight height difference, I let the pistol slide down the metal of his armored back, settling on wedging it in an unprotected space in his armor, aimed directly at his spine.

"Don't move," I growled, though I didn't have anything on turians and their secondary set of vocal chords, "or I _will_ paint the floor with that special color of turian blue. Ya dig?"

In a move that I usually performed on others, he whirled around and grabbed the barrel of my pistol and twisted it out of my damn hand. One blink later and I was staring down the barrel of my own gun aimed directly at my exposed heart.

_Shit._

Colorful expletives in English _and_ Turian swirled around in my head for not seeing this one coming a mile away, but commended the man that had gotten the drop on me so easily since the feat was difficult to begin with. Again, it was blamed on the lack of sleep because I didn't _dare_ question my own skills.

Slowly my gloved hands rose in surrender and I lowered my head _just_ enough to shroud my face in shadow to allow my intentionally long bangs to cover the twinkle my highly identifiable eyes. A smirk tugged at the corners of my lips because this was going to either be a disaster or a blessing. I was hoping for blessing.

Through the dark curtain of my bangs I could barely make out the silver carapace and mandibles that were adorned with cobalt blue clan markings that stretched across and over his plated nose and down onto his twitching mandibles. My knowledge of turian clans was a bit rusty (my family bore the ancient white Gothis Colony markings), so I wasn't completely sure of his origins or his lineage.

Although…the markings _did_ look familiar in that sexy, badass sort of way…

Aside from the facial markings that I couldn't place, I reminded myself that all C-Sec wore the same black and blue uniformed armor, including the asari and humans. He could have been any _one_ of those ignorant and committed to public service turian dachas, not the special one who sent a fire to my loins when he clapped my wrists in cuffs and growled my rights into my ear.

Besides, I always joked with my amila that all turian males looked _exactly_ the same, save for the tint of their outer metallic plates (which ranged from a shimmering white-silver to deep chocolate brown), the color of their eyes, the pitch of their voices, and their clan lineage. And spirits forbid if the turians in question were related in some way; then it was damn near impossible to distinguish them apart from each other unless you were speaking to them.

Hence, I had to confirm my suspicions by that hypnotic rumble and that undeniably sexy accent that any girl of any species couldn't help but notice, even if a pistol _were_ pointed at your heart because if he were who I thought he was, then this was definitely going to be interesting.

I tilted my head coquettishly to the side. "You look disgustingly familiar. Have I evaded you before?"

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" the turian grumbled.

Yep, it was exactly who I assumed it was and my heart skipped a beat. I lifted my head and my eyes twitched slightly in amusement at the defensive stance perfectly in line with military regulations and the way his finger itched on the trigger as though he were caressing a woman…

He was the hero to my villain, the cat to my mouse, the Holmes to my Moriarty, and the only person who could ever outwit me…

"Detective Garrus Vakarian," I muttered slowly in amusement, somehow knowing now that this meeting would end badly, "the feeling's mutual. Didn't expect to see _you,_" I lazily pointed a finger at him for emphasis, "on an Alliance vessel."

"I didn't expect to see you either? Is this some kind of maniacal plot of yours?" he cocked a brow plate, but his am never faltered.

The corners of my lips curled up in a mischievous grin. "You flatter me too much, Garebear."

I commenced to land a perfectly executed roundhouse kick to his gloved hands that sent my pistol skittering across the floor and under a crate. My foot landed behind me and I took my fighting stance.

"So, it's going to go like this," he took his as well, "I beat the crap out of you for fun, lock you up, steal this ship, and send you home when I get where I'm going; hopefully not in a body bag because you're just that damn cute. Ya dig?"

No answer left his lips as he sent a gloved fist sailing in my direction. I easily blocked the shot that would have most certainly disconnected my jaw with a well placed forearm, retaliating in a hard punch to his abdomen.

I knew that this was one of the turians' very few points of weakness and the easiest to hit. Not to mention the biggest. Since a turian male's genitals were hidden behind a plate that concealed their members; a blow to the stomach was the equivalent of kicking a human in the balls and a krogan in the quad.

But the armor that I had completely forgotten about prevented that debilitating shot.

"FUCK!" I exclaimed loud enough to wake the dead as I shook out my now throbbing hand.

"You should just give yourself up now, _before_ you get hurt." Garrus replied arrogantly, his mandibles flaring that familiar bratty grin.

"You're _such_ a dacha." I replied affectionately as he swung at me again.

This time, he landed a blow to my healing ribcage that I couldn't block in time over the other flurry of punches he'd thrown my way. I hissed at the pain and stumbled back, grabbing my torso because unlike him, I wasn't fuckin' wearing _armor!_ I took in a few deep breaths to regain my composure and narrowed my silver eyes at him.

Oh, it was on _now_. The gloves were definitely off, playtime was over, and I planned to mop the floor with his smug turian grin.

Truth be told, this wasn't our first tango with each other – not by a long shot – and I had firsthand knowledge of the weaknesses in his fighting style. He took more of a trained and regulated approach, a turian approach if you will, using brute force and strategically placed moves to take a suspect down swiftly. My style was also turian in nature, but it was more fluid, mixed, and spontaneous as I used a fighting style reminiscent of capoeira and danced around my opponent until I was just plain tired.

And for all intents and purposes, it _should _have ended as quickly as it started. The plan was to block his first hit, return with a punch to the soft place under his plating to knock the wind from him, and then run like hell for the gun when he was trying to regain his breath. It was a move I'd learned from sparring with my fradu during my adolescent years. The move usually left me bloody and bruised afterwards because he would always get his retribution. The run like hell had been added after I'd learned from experience.

A warning alarm blared in my head as I pursed my lips in annoyance. With the armor on, Garrus was impenetrable with bare fists alone. All I could do at this point was maybe make a dent in his armor with my pain as the expense. I knew I _had_ to get that armor off somehow.

_But how?_

The answer to my question came in the form of two small latches that sealed the blueberry breastplate in place, located on his sides. _Hmmm, all I had to do was unclasp those and I could take him down smooth_. Those seals just became my new aim in the fight.

Now just how to keep him either subdued or distracted long enough…

A three-toed foot headed in my direction knocked me from my thoughts. I caught it midair and sent him stumbling backwards then I boldly speared his torso with my shoulder, sending us both tumbling to the ground. Once down, I quickly straddled his waist and attempted to land amusing, open handed slaps to his face that he was blocking with his forearms.

Garrus grabbed my waist, dug his talons in, and tossed me off and like a cat. I landed on my feet and rose.

_There went the subdued part. I figured maybe a distraction would work better?_

"So," I said through ragged breaths as he slowly returned to his feet, "you've picked up some smooth skills since we last met? Been hittin' the gym, big guy?" I teased.

"I've always had the skills. Maybe _you're_ just getting rusty." Garrus retorted, that bratty grin back on his face.

"Riiight," I breathed with a roll of the eyes.

We both then crouched down and circled each other like caged animals, our bodies tense in anticipation of the other's strike. In all honesty, winning or losing was never an issue as I always allowed Garrus to drag me into custody for the hell of it_._ It was definitely entertaining to see him get so violently angry when I evaded his answers and got myself out of his custody. It had been some of the most entertaining times in my life.

I smirked, running to close the gap between us. After some punches and a few blocks, my boot left the metal of the floor and landed a heel to his chest, sending him staggering backwards from the force and almost onto his cowl. Before he could recover, I quickly wrapped my arms around him and unsnapped the two seals holding his armor in place, throwing up my hands as if to say 'what bitch'? I had half a mind to yell it out too, but decided against it for obvious reasons.

The armor protecting his torso hit the ground with a loud clank and his eyes followed. I grinned and placed my hands on my hips.

"Didn't think I knew how to get that pesky armor off, did ya?"

He eyed the armor on the ground, scratching his brow plate idly with his talon. "That's a new one. You're definitely getting better at this and I'm surprised."

"Garebear," I smirked wickedly, "I'm chalked _full_ of fun surprises."

I used the distraction to grab his shoulders and forcibly wedge my knee into the leathery tan colored hide between his silver plating with enough force that it forced out a chirp of pain. Taking the advantage as he grasped his torso, I turned on my heel and hauled ass for the crate. Landing on my stomach, I slid across the floor, grabbed my pistol from under the crate, and had it tilted to the side and aimed in his direction before he got remotely close.

When he caught sight of the gun pointed at him, he skidded to a stop.

"You _cheated_." Garrus gestured to the elongated barrel and his voice held accusation as if he _expected_ otherwise.

"_Pirate_." I made a small circle with the pistol and acknowledged his comment as _though_ he expected otherwise.

I shook my head in disbelief. He of all people should have _known_ I wouldn't play fair and not cheat a little. I am a pirate for shit's sake: having the upper hand in situations had been my saving grace, even if it meant turning the tide by cheating. It had kept me alive and it kept me from Fist's thugs. It also gave me bargaining power. But in haste, I had to speed up our little tango before someone else decided to crash the party and ruin everything I had set into motion.

"This is over, so let me cuff you to a pole or something so I can steal this ship and be on my way. I have illegal mods to pick up, people to fuck, and a truckload of Jack to consume before I return home. Ya dig?"

"No."

The refusal came out as plain as day and he retook his defensive stance to prove some point of his. I rolled my eyes because there was no way I was going to drop the gun now that I had it.

No. Chance. In. Hell.

"C'mon, Garrus. _Please?_" I genuinely pleaded to the turian, "let me be just this once. I'm being hunted by Saren Arterius and I don't have any plans to die soon."

I really didn't want to _kill_ Garrus; it would have been a waste of time. On the flip side, to save my own hide, I wouldn't have hesitated to put a bullet between his eyes. I would have definitely been heartbroken for a while and missed my ecus dearly, but I would have gotten over it once someone else filled the role.

"Wait," he straightened up and it surprised me, "You're being hunted by_ Saren_? Why?"

I pursed my lips and gave him that _duh_ look, the gun still trained on his heart and my tone laced with amusement.

"Unlike your original assumption, this isn't one of my maniacal plots. And you know _damn_ well you wouldn't believe me anyway. You still think I'm a liar, even though I've helped you in the past."

Garrus shifted his stance and folded his arms over his exposed torso, where my eyes had wandered lustfully.

"That's precisely why I'm giving you this chance. Plus, you would have already done your damage if this was for your own pleasure. So try me."

"Olivia?"

He cleared his throat to draw my attention back to his eyes and I shrugged. He was handsome. Hell, he'd always been my eye candy. I just couldn't help myself. Can you blame a girl?

He stared me down with those authoritative ice blues and eventually I sighed in resignation. At this point I knew was royally fucked and the odds were certainly stacked against me. But the light bulb clicked on with a devilish idea.

I could use this to my advantage.

I was more than likely going to be incarcerated on this cruiser, since I was a nuisance and whatnot, and this meant being in the safety net of the Alliance and in the custody of a Spectre, the most famous one in fact. My apprehension would cause a tabloid spectacle, which would mean that Saren would be stupid to send one of his henchmen to kill me with so many eyes watching. The only loose end would be figuring out how to escape C-Sec's maximum security prison on Kithoi Ward, which wasn't terribly difficult, and get to Omega on my own terms.

Not the best plan I've come up with, but one that would bide me some time at least.

"Parlay," I declared as I threw my hands up in genuine surrender, "you win this round, big guy. Here's the deal," I said as I holstered my pistol and returned my hands in front of me, "I have information on Saren that could bury him, not to mention documents on the turian Primarchs, the Systems Alliance, the Salarian Dalatrasses, the Asari Republic, and a shit-ton of other underhanded dealings in the galaxy."

"_Really_?" he cocked a brow plate after a moment of thought, "that's the _best_ story you could come up with?"

I nodded sheepishly. He chuckled in response and to me, it sounded lighter than his forced one.

"You're right. I...don't believe you and in my right mind, I can't bear to let you walk away a free woman, not without answering for everything you did even if you have helped me in the past, whether I'm with C-Sec or not."

I mulled over the possible double-meaning in his flange, words, and tone. I know we've had our love affair before, but did the man who always wanted to see me behind bars develop a true soft spot for me? The locket must have fucked me up more than I thought if I was even considering that. I knew why _I_ had feelings for _him_, but did it work the other way around? Was I more than just a common criminal in his eyes? I shook off the thought because it was just _too_ incredulous.

Then all at once, the one phrase I never expected to hear hit me like lightning.

Wait? Whaaaaat? Not with C-Sec? That was complete and utter bullshit! This was the same man who devoted all his time and hours into protecting the Citadel at all costs, a man _seriously_ dedicated to his job. The same man who, time and time again, had an uncanny knack for finding me at the right place at the right time. This was the same detective who took a side route and played the game my way, chasing me around the Presidium while the Forgotten Legion was attempting to take down the very thing he vowed to protect?

I sure as shit must not have heard _that_ right. There was no way in hell…

"You're…_not_…with…C-Sec?" I slowly stated under my breath more than questioned, chewing on my words as I tried to absorb them.

"Not anymore." he said in his usual stone-like demeanor with a hint of mirroring remorse, "And I don't owe you an explanation as to why I'm not."

"No," I shook my head as my world crumbled beneath me for the second time this week, "I suppose you don't. But-" I paused, the feeling of sinking replaced by a rabid anger, "but that means you have no jurisdiction and I don't owe you shit anymore. That means you can kiss my petite…pirate…ass…turian."

I took in a steadying breath and flicked the safety with my thumb.

His reply was never heard as what happened next had been the only thing that had gone right.

Mr. Rookie, now awake and pissed beyond all belief that he had been knocked on his ass, took the butt of a Lancer assault rifle and knocked me in the back of the head. The last thing I heard before the darkness enveloped me and my head snacked against the metal ground was the sound of Garrus shouting and footsteps running towards me.

Now…for round two.

* * *

**A/N:**

**So we found out a little about the mysterious pirate and her past with a certain loveable turian. But will Shepard stick with the decision to allow her to join the Normandy once he gets to know her? See you next episode in: Seven Is a Lucky Number.**

**Shotout to Skvyer for being my very first follower. You ROCK!**

**Thanks to chevy99 for the criticism and advice. I had to revise a few things I sincerely overlooked in my prologue and the subsequent episodes. Mucho thanks for the heads up.**

**Thanks for all the readers. I hope I am doing a fine job.**

**XOXO**


	4. Episode 2: Seven is a Lucky Number

**Episode 2**

**Seven is a Lucky Number**

Everyone knows that gossip travels fast and can have the potential to go viral on a ship the size of the Normandy. Although Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams had made it a point to stay trapped within her _own_ thoughts, she had certainly heard the rumors from her fellow crewmates about the pirate and the stiff reprimand of Officer Chris Postle – the Requisitions Officer – by a fuming CO. There was no escaping it. Now normally, the gunnery chief would have lunged at the idea of a good drama but right now, she didn't care about what was going on around her. She was still seething over the fates of her squad because in her mind, she kept reviewing how she could have saved them even though she knew it was out of her hands anyway.

No matter how withdrawn she might have become, getting dragged into the drama was bound to happen and for Ashley…that time was now. She was in the middle of meticulously scrubbing down the sights of the Lancers when Kaidan intruded on her space and leaned against the bench, arms crossed.

"Williams, did you hear?" he kept his eyes forward, "A _pirate_ was found in the cargo bay. And to add insult to injury, Shepard's entertaining the idea of adding her to the team."

He let his eyes to settle on the side of her head and a few brief moments of silence passed before he began again. "A penny for your thoughts chief?"

Ashley sighed heavily in response and sat the pieces down calmly, leaning with her palms on the surface and her head bowed, trying to mask her annoyance from the higher ranking officer.

"Hasn't everyone heard about the _pirate_?"

Kaidan's face wrinkled into a frown. "You know," he began sincerely, "since you've boarded you've been down here in the shadows and haven't really spoken to anyone."

He nodded after a few moments of awkwardness, "I get it. I just wanted someone to talk to and I'll leave if you don't want to be disturbed."

Deep down inside, Ashley knew she _needed_ the escape because there was just no sense in dwelling on the past. The fine soldiers of the 212 were dead and there was no coming back from that. At this point the only thing she _could_ do was pray for the families of the fallen. It wasn't like she'd get a medal or any recognition for her valor because being the granddaughter of General Williams carried a certain stigma that kept her from advancing in the military or getting any real recognition. And to be fair, she wouldn't have had the shipboard posting she had now had it not been for that tragic situation. This all happened by grace of Captain Anderson. But it didn't sway the guilty feeling she still felt that they paid for her passage in blood.

However, Ashley couldn't complain as this was exactly where she wanted to be the moment she enlisted on her eighteenth birthday. She figured that she should – at the very least – take a break before she got a cramp in her neck from leaning over the bench for so long. So she mirrored the sentinel's stance, her eyes wandering to the turian fiddling with the control panel of the Mako.

After a few contemplative moments, she finally spoke in a softer, more professional tone.

"You can stay sir, and I'm sorry for my demeanor. I'm still angry over losing my unit to those geth and I took it out on you."

"Hey," Kaidan placed his hand on her shoulder for comfort, "I understand how you feel. I'm still reeling over losing Jenkins to those geth bastards. He was a damn good soldier."

Ashley closed her eyes and recited a quote that had been lingering in her mind since Eden Prime. "Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do or die." She then opened her eyes and sighed. "Whatever we do, I just don't want their deaths to be in vain."

"They won't," the sentinel reassured her, "the commander won't let that happen. He's hell bent on taking down Saren and I don't think anything or anyone will get in his way."

"Really," Ashley snorted, "like a pirate that decided to stow away. If he does add her to the team, at least that's better than another _alien_."

Kaidan was shocked at the soldier's acidic tone, but she was right. This was a human Alliance ship, captained by a human commander and the first human spectre. There should have been more humans recruited. End of discussion. But he wasn't the one to question the CO's choices. If Shepard felt that the current team he was assembling was good enough for the commander and the mission, then it was good enough for him.

Without more information, Kaidan really didn't know what to think about the nameless human pirate. It was either the commander knew the implications and had a plan set to keep her in line or Ashley was right: he was being distracted by a pirate's antics and they were all in for a rude awakening. Whatever the case; Kaidan's intrigue about the woman kept her in the forefront of his mind.

"Apparently," he conveyed with a hint of humor, "she was speaking _turian_ when she and Detective Vakarian had their little encounter and no one knows why."

"Really? That's odd for a human." Ashley's eyebrows rose and she made a mental note to have a 'friendly' chat with her about it if she was recruited.

"From what I heard from Dr. Chakwas, that pirate is truly something else," Kaidan nodded, "It will be interesting to see how she fairs with the rest of the crew. If it comes to that."

"Just remind me to hide my stuff and keep my eye on her." Ashley deadpanned and they both broke out into a lighthearted laugh.

Kaidan's stomach started to growl and he turned to her. "I'm glad you're feeling better and I'm headed for the mess. If you ever want to talk about…you know…whatever, I'll be here whenever you need me."

Ashley nodded. "I do feel a little better and-" she grabbed his arm as he was retreating, "Thanks…sir."

"No problem, Williams. That's what marines do. We stick together." The sentinel gave her one last smile before he left for the elevator and she returned to her mindless work.

**- S01E02 -**

Consciousness came back to me slowly and I tried to open my eyes.

It was a challenge because of the brain splitting headache that was blurring my vision, a bright light overhead trying to fry my retinas, and the slight disorientation with trying to use those sore eyes that caused my stomach to churn as though I would hurl.

_Damn, he hit me hard as fuck. I haven't felt like this since…_

The fog in my head was swirling thick when I heard the gentle hum of electronics that revealed to me that I was, at least, still aboard the SSV Normandy and not in a Citadel hospital.

Thankfully, that was the thing with space faring vehicles; you could never abdicate that distinctive low whirr as it was the heartbeat of the ship. For someone who spent their lives in space like me, it was definitely something you simultaneously trained yourself to disregard and be fully attentive to. If that sound happened to cease, it probably meant the life support systems had failed, casting you in your own cold, floating space coffin.

The sound of a functioning life support system was usually reassuring to me; however, it wasn't enough to halt my first instinct to reach under my pillow for one of my pistols. My ascension from a captain's whore to the captain of my own ship was no easy feat and upholding the title kept me overly paranoid. Also being a lone wolf for so long forced me to pick up certain mechanisms and this one always topped the list, especially when the factors around me were completely unknown.

It was second nature; I didn't even realize I'd done it until I saw an older woman in my peripheral – the medic of the ship, I assumed – crinkle her face already wrinkling face into a stern frown.

It was a struggle, but the light shut off on the scanner above and I opened my eyes to sit upright. The medic returned to her terminal, typing in something of importance I could tell. _Probably my psyche report telling the Alliance that I'm bat-shit crazy,_ I thought as the doctor finished up, slid the small IV drip needle of Papaverus out of my arm (to which I winced because I absolutely _hate _needles), gave me a silent and mysteriously cordial nod, and left the room.

Upon my second instinct: inspection of my person, my twins were absent; but the general's ceremonial diamond, ruby, and onyx encrusted dagger was still tucked in the lip of my boot. At least I had something other than my bare fists and it made me feel a little better.

By that time, most of the disorientation in my head subsided and I moved my elbow-length plait aside to reveal a swollen knot, but no wound, stitches, or crusted blood; even though the spot was still sore as hell. Deep down inside and past my initial annoyance, I knew I shouldn't have been too angry with the man…hell, he'd performed beautifully and according to plan. However, it still didn't give him reason to hit me _that_ damn hard.

After I was pleased I wasn't bleeding and checked the rest of myself (my ribcage was mysteriously healed also), I panned around to my surroundings since I was curious – it was definitely a medical bay with a medi-gel dispenser that I was planning to raid later – and near the bed closest to the door, I caught a slight movement.

A lightly armored human male neared me and as my luminescent eyes focused, I could see that he seemed less than pleased as his arms were crisply folded over his chest. He spoke to me, but I couldn't understand him for whatever reason. After a small tweak to my omni-tool, a gentle pop in my ears confirmed my translator was back online and I could understand him, loud and clear.

"Are you _feeling_ better?" the baritone voice asked with much concern.

If eyes were truly the windows to a man's soul and revealed all you desired to know about his worth; then I could tell that this man was battle hardened and experienced. The general had trained me on reading all species and it came in handy during times like now. It helped with my 'fight or flight' response, as it usually revealed what the stakes were. Usually, it was fight because it was like everyone I met was out to get me somehow.

To my discontent that response was abnormally absent. Maybe it was because a dense fog was still slightly clouding my judgment and impairing my thoughts. Maybe it was the non-confrontational tone he took with me. _Who knew?_

He _did_ sound genuinely concerned for my welfare although he knew nothing about me _or_ my intentions. But I guaranteed that if he had known what I'd been up to, he would have thrown me out the airlock without a second thought.

_Don't fool yourself, Livy. Remember: he's Alliance military and a Spectre. It's just the calm before the storm. They all want to see pirates hanging from a noose, like in the old days._

It was true as no species tolerated piracy and the people who chose that path. Shit, they barely tolerated mercenaries. We were labeled as scum and severely distrusted, even _if_ we decided to switch careers for the betterment of our lives. Spirits forbid if we were caught somehow: we are handed harsh sentences that usually ended in a torturous execution to make us an example to other pirates tempting fate.

Although…something about the air about him made me do a mental double-take. I couldn't put my finger on it yet, but it was _something_.

As my eyes trailed up and down his muscular frame, I noted that he was quite handsome, statuesque even. Aside from the regulation short haircut and the scar that still looked red with anger under his right eye, the facial hair along the pronounced line of his jaw had grown out into stubble. The hue of his skin was more of a lighter olive color that hadn't seen the rays of a sol in ages and naturally lighter in complexion to mine. I also spotted the N7 logo on his chest and pursed my lips in thought.

_N7? Where have I seen that code before?_

_Oh shit…_This must be Spectre Commander Mark Shepard, the infamous Butcher of Torfan. He was definitely a legend in the Terminus (as in, if you see this guy coming at you, RUN) and because of the handed down anecdotes of his heroism, I expected him to be taller than he actually was, and maybe a bit more brooding.

I must have been deep in thought for a good amount of time because the spectre asked the question again more slowly and leaned closer, keenly studying my movements which seemed terribly interesting to him. Although I couldn't blame him; it must have seemed weird as my movements were turian in nature, despite my human appearance.

With my headache throbbing more fiercely but my nausea completely gone, I groaned and swung my legs over the side of the cot, cradling my face in hands.

"Yeah I'm alright… I think," I answered through my fingers and my voice sounded hoarse, more so than normal, "Just a little headache, that's all."

His eyebrow piqued in a confusion that blared straight through his tone. "You're obviously human, but you are using some language that made my translator glitch and have weird eyes. Are you a hybrid of some sort?

My face scrunched up. You don't know how many times I've explained to everyone I'd met that I have a genetic defect called: tapetum lucidum, or more commonly known as 'eyeshine'. It gave my naturally grey eyes their silver look and enhanced my night vision. My pupils weren't black either; they were paper white and blended in with the silver seamlessly. They were quite useful in the darkness, as I could snipe a fucktard from 150m away in complete darkness, triple that in the light. They also changed color depending on the angle. Sometimes they looked white hued if I was facing light head on, like shining a light directly in an animal's eyes. Most of the time they stayed silver with the help of my sentry interface visor. Although classified as a defect – in the same vein as biotics – it always raised the questions.

In addition to the oddity of my eyes, speaking a broken portion of the tal'mae, or turian language, was part of a long list of instincts I tried to hide, especially from humans. Because of the Relay 314 incident and the lives lost, there was still some lingering bad blood between the species. It usually dwelled within the hard-pressed elders, but some of the youth of the species (like my shameless fradu I found out recently) still followed the xenophobic thought pattern. And keeping my anonymity to avoid an all out confrontation was damn good reason for keeping _that _little secret hidden from prying eyes.

The garbled sounds coming out of my mouth must have sounded like a combination of gibberish and nails against a chalkboard to the human ear. Turian could understand me without a translator for the most part, like Garrus and my family, although to _them_ it even sounded a bit quirky because I didn't naturally possess the secondary set of vocal chords to enunciate the chirps and clicks needed on certain consonants to sound intelligible to an actual translator. I always loved it when I could make translators' glitch. People's faces, _priceless._

"Sorry, luv," I shrugged in my half-assed way and used a language closer to home, albeit still heavily accented, "it happens when you're raised by da ol' birds."

"That's interesting," he rubbed his chin, "Vakarian told me about your exploits, but nothing about…you."

"That _dacha_ doesn't know a fuckin' ting about me. He's just another asshole with a grudge, butcher of Torfan." I said through a snort…that turned into a chuckle…that turned into a long cough.

I _really_ needed a drink…and to get the hell off this ship. The longer I stayed, the more anxious I was becoming. I hoped I didn't have one of my panic attacks again. That would have been a disaster.

"So…you know who I am?" he said as he casually handed me a glass of water that I gulped down rapidly then replaced on the bedside table.

I nodded and playfully gestured being shot in the temple. "Mr. Rookie spilled da beans when I had my gun to his head. Plus, you're a fuckin' legend to us pirates."

"Mr. Rookie?" he tapped his chin until the name hit, "Ohhhh…Officer Postle. Well, that explains his retaliation against you. Maybe I should have been a little easier on him now since I know the truth."

I nodded absently, completely oblivious to the insult because my immediate attention was drawn to comfortingly rolling the locket between my fingers, the cool metal keeping my anxiety at bay.

"And Vakarian told me you used to be a captain too?" he teased.

_Ever the caustically sarcastic bastard_, I thought warily.

"Where's your ship?" Shepard asked after a few moments of awkward silence.

"_My _ship?" I responded through gritted teeth as the wound was still painful to the touch, "was stolen from me and I was left for dead. I was planning on confiscating yours, but it seems as though it won't happen now."

"Riiiight," he poked a finger at me, "_You, _a _pirate_, steal an Alliance warship? That's not happening." Shepard chuckled smugly, the crooked smirk still plastered on his face as he continued. "Anyway, we are in FTL travel and it would be useless to do a u-turn just to backtrack to the Citadel to hand you over. So what am I to do with you?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Don't tink just because ya have me at a _slight_ disadvantage dat ya will get whatever ya want from me. I'll die before I let DAT happen."

I knew I was being terribly paranoid and a little melodramatic, but it was tied to my anxiety. I was a hard-assed pirate, known for my tactics and surgical precision, including being able count on others stupidity to take them by surprise. But I still couldn't shake the overwhelming claustrophobia and anxiety I was born with. It was one of my only flaws.

However, it quelled when I was struck with intrigue. A man of his stature and background didn't automatically arrest me, read me the rights, and throw me into the ship's brig to rot. But then…_first impressions were always the wrong ones_. Not to mention the fact that Garebear was probably raging somewhere since he couldn't get his way.

"That wouldn't benefit me none." he began after a moment, "While you were unconscious, Garrus informed me that you're a wanted pirate _and_-" I opened my mouth to protest and he held a finger up to silence me, "the deal is simple: tell me whatever you know about Saren Arterius and I'll use my executive privilege as a spectre to grant you a full pardon, galaxy-wide. Afterwards, you can leave this ship a free woman."

I physically scratched my head in utter confusion. _Did I hear that right?_ _Am I still unconscious? What does he need with information on Saren? _Not only was I trapped on an Alliance vessel, I was trapped on an Alliance vessel with a Spectre _and_ an ex C-Sec detective and whoever else the walls contained. It also didn't help that I was trapped. Did I mention _trapped_?

What choice did I have? Trying to go renegade on the Alliance wouldn't prove jack shit but that I must've been out of my mind, which I was usually. Hell, he could've had Captain America and the Incredible Hulk on board for all I knew. Not to mention that I was in the presence of a spectre. From what I could remember of the quote, 'spectres are not trained, but chosen.', and I attributed that to 'I'm better than you, so don't fuck with me.'

I was considering premature defeat when I decided to test the waters. I smirked deviously, crossing my legs smugly at the knee.

"What's to stop me from giving ya false information and taking da pardon? I _am _a pirate, ya know."

"Remember one thing, I am a _spectre_," he threatened as he leaned closer to my face, "I'm not bound by any law but the Council's. If you do decide to make that mistake and I find out, then I will personally hunt you down and drag you back to the Citadel, kicking and screaming, and make sure you _never_ see the inside of a ship or the expanse of space again. You understand?"

I thought it was an overly exerted show of manhood, but I shrugged. Besides, I already had one Spectre on my ass and I sure as hell didn't need another.

"Okay, I understand boss." I threw my hands up in mock exasperation, "I'll tell you whatever ya wanna know, just keep my name out of it."

"None of that boss stuff. Just call me Shepard," he nodded and stuck his hand out, "and we have an understanding, Ms. Marcellus?"

I eyed the outstretched hand hesitantly. I was an outlaw: I never, ever, ever sealed a deal with a physical handshake. That was my pirate rule number one. Your enemy could draw you closer and shove a knife in your belly faster than you could blink. It's happened to me before. Got the scar to prove it. With us galactic degenerates, it was always implied with a copasetic nod that the dealmaker would hold to their end of the bargain. If not, then it ended in their death.

_So you want an understanding, huh?_

"Ya want information from me, so return da gesture by allowing me access to the Council and Alliance databases," I mimicked his tone amusingly, "and we'll have an understanding, Mr. Spectre."

I folded my arms over my torso, challenging the commander. Shepard arched his brow in response and I could see him rolling the idea around in his head. I didn't see why there was hesitation: there was a mutual benefit. He wanted information, I wanted information. Win-win scenario.

Surprisingly, he nodded and stuck out his hand again. Cautiously, I wrapped my hand around and awkwardly squeezed, then I returned my hand to the back of my neck. I couldn't understand why I felt so at ease, yet nervous enough to hurl. The realization hit me on the head like a ton of bricks.

He shouldn't have known that I _had_ information on Saren, let alone information…_period_. In response, I nervously fidgeted with the locket again, wondering if he'd found a way to access it _without_ using my DNA. Unless I'd bled somehow, which the original inspection of the back of my head negated and my hand was completely healed. So there was no way he would be able to access it without it. But then again I was alive, free from the brig, not in cuffs, and he had bargained ever so nicely.

Which brought me to assertion number two. Garebear must've squealed. Maybe he _did_ believe me and if this was the spectre I'd heard about that had been dispatched to bring the ingrate to justice; then I was right where I needed to be. Again, I discarded my plan and started from scratch.

If I could find a way to convince Shepard that I could be useful aboard this floating hunk of junk, then he would lead me, backed with my own personal army, right to Saren so I can pop one between his creepy-looking, barefaced, brow plates. Without my insider knowledge of his ways, I knew the turian would wipe the floor with the lot of them. He wasn't the Council's right hand crab for nothing. I knew from personal experience that he was cold, calculating, lethal, vicious, and strategic: someone I used to look up to and tried to emulate, until he killed my mada, my innupta, and put out the order for me. Most importantly, they would need firepower that only yours truly had access to.

Lastly, I figured an enemy of my enemy was my friend so I lazily tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear and forcibly quelled my anxiety.

"By the way, how did you know I had information?" I questioned as I rubbed my forehead.

Shepard chuckled. "Besides Garrus explaining your dilemma and your little 'altercation' in the shuttle bay, Dr. Chakwas was worried that you might have suffered a concussion. Because she is a doctor first, she did an MRI and the results uncovered that something had-"

"-imprinted files in my brain dat I can access in a conscious state like an AI can access cached files?" I interrupted while he sat down next to me on the uncomfortable bed.

"You were awake, I assume?" Shepard placed his hands on his knees.

I shook my head slowly and snorted. "No, da Papaverus running through my veins prevented dat. I've just heard it all before. I went to see a doctor on da Citadel and she pretty much said da same thing."

"Oh." Shepard breathed.

I smirked and crossed my legs with a warning. "Ya know, da info ya seek could start a galactic war with humanity at the tip o' da spear."

"Yeah, how?" He gave me a scrutinizing look.

I took in a breath and crossed my arms, letting my eyes settle on the med bay floor. After a moment of silence, I closed my eyes and searched my mental filing cabinet for the corresponding files. I opened my eyes and turned to Shepard.

"Da most recent set of files are journal entries from a doctor named Shu Qian. He was with yar military, working on illegal AI research in a secure facility on Sidon. Not only was he helping wit creating an AI for the Alliance, he was researching some odd artifact."

Shepard shrugged half-heartedly. "What happened on Sidon is common knowledge. From what I remember, Saren snitched the incident to the Council and we offered intervention to prevent a diplomatic incident."

I nodded. "And ya right. But what dey didn't say was dat da operation was continued and moved to Camala 'cause of a batarian named Edan Had'dah, who began to fund da project for the hegemony. Besides da batarian involvement, Qian wrote in his entries dat dis artifact itself might have even pre-dated the Protheans demselves.

"Eventually, da artifact changed him, indoctrinated him. Both of dem, actually. And apparently, Saren robbed da doctor of his research and killed dem both. The last entry dat was salvaged classified da artifact as Reaper Tech," I threw my hands up, palms upward, in one of my embedded turian gestures, "like I know what _dat_ means."

"Wait," Shepard's eyebrow arched and he straightened, "_Reaper_ Tech? Matriarch Benezia mentioned the return of a sentient race called the 'Reapers' in a recording I presented to the Council," he turned to me, "Do the files mention anything about this artifact being a conduit, since that's what we know he's searching for now?"

I shook my head slowly, still reeling in the grogginess. "Nothing about da artifact being a 'conduit'. But in retrospect, if yar Alliance had followed Council laws, den dey wouldn't have had to send Saren in to intervene and he wouldn't have stolen da research on da Reaper tech. Dat's what makes dis _s'kak_ so sensitive. It plainly puts da blame on the Alliance for what's going on with Saren now."

"That might be true," Shepard nodded in bitter acknowledgment, "and there's no getting around that as facts are facts. But I'm not part of that. I'm just a soldier who got the honor of being the first human Spectre and thrown in at the right place and the right time. Whatever happened then, it's now my job to fix it now."

"Spectre…," I said warily, "dis is precisely da reason why Saren is after me. I know too much…I know things dat could bury him."

"I assume you stole that locket from Saren somehow?" Shepard interrupted with an accusing tone.

"No." I immediately rolled my eyes at the insinuation in annoyance.

I never understood why _everyone_ I encountered assumed the word 'pirate' was synonymous with 'thief'. Yes, it was true that I pilfered for my own personal agenda as a thief would, but I was far from a generic thief. I didn't pilfer unnecessarily, kept the innocent out of the line of fire, and was honest about my intentions when asked, not underhanded and sneaky like my best friend and sometimes rival, Mimi. I was a _pirate_, huge difference_._

I took a breath and began my lengthy explanation. "During da Relay 314 incident and until her death, my mada.- er- moder was a part of Blackwatch as a reconnaissance specialist; a small team of exceptionally skilled Special Ops turian soldiers. Since Saren's brother, Desolas, was labeled as a traitor to da turian race posthumously for his actions on Palaven during da incident, Saren was constantly monitored by the hierarchy and by Blackwatch. I don't know _how_ she got any of da files, but she did. I mean, it was _her _locket before she died."

"How did she die? Your mother, I mean?" Shepard asked.

Despite the comforting tone of his voice, I ground my teeth in anger since the memory was yet another open wound. Sometimes I wondered how I still had enamel because every time I got angry, I ground my teeth. Old habit I picked up from the general I suppose.

"Saren was tipped off by Benezia dat she had da files and he killed her in cold blood, just like he did my innupta…uh…what you would consider a," I rolled my hand, "…uh…god…father."

"I'm-" Shepard began, but I interrupted him.

"Don't. What I need is dat bastard's head on a platter for all da pain he's caused my family."

Shepard nodded in acknowledgement and he turned back to me. "Well with that said, you're in luck."

"What does _dat_ mean?" I said as I hopped off the bed and headed for the med bay doors, the throbbing in my head now down to a tolerable dull ache.

Shepard stayed quiet and flashed that crooked smirk of his. I was getting the gist of what that smirk meant. Whatever he was about to say probably wouldn't be pleasant for me.

"I have something better for you….something that you might just enjoy more than returning to the Terminus."

I casually leaned her back against the door and folded my arms. Nothing would have been more enjoyable than piracy and my freedom, but I entertained him anyway.

"Yeah, and what's dat?"

Shepard rose from his position and clasped his hands behind his back. I found it humorous that he was being so outwardly formal with me and by association the Alliance Navy and the Council. I knew Saren was a menace to galactic society, but how deep did the rabbit hole actually go if he needed a criminal I wondered? Hell, I could just imagine the bile rising in his throat. Though, I did understand the gesture. It was ingrained in him just as it had been ingrained in me, both being of military backgrounds. I was just a rebel.

_Not that the display of goodwill means shit to me._

He began, albeit very slowly, "As a representative of the Systems Alliance and the Special Recon-"

I interrupted him with a flick of the wrist. "Spare me da formalities and keep yar honor. I'm a pirate. I don't care."

It looked as though a weight was lifted from his shoulders and he relaxed. Then in a surprising move, he firmly planted his hand on the door, right next to my head. When he locked eyes with me, I smiled coyly; there were ten different ways I could have taken him and he would have only seen three coming.

"Alright, how about this: what if I say that you can _have_ that revenge if you joined the Normandy? You _could_ stay here under my protection or," he shrugged nonchalantly, "you can return to your life on the run from a spectre that will most definitely kill you before we get to him and bring him to justice. Your choice."

_Just as I expected. _

But I wasn't one to be fooled by a snake charmer. Although, getting under the resident turian's plates was a positive I could definitely live with. Spirits, I could just see the look on his face. A coy smirk tugged at the corners of my lips as I poked a finger in his armor.

"I'll join yar little motley crew _only_ if I get to kill Saren myself."

Shepard nodded with a glint of mirroring mischief in his sea of blue. "You'll have to duke it out with Vakarian and Wrex on that one."

I laughed for the first time in what felt like forever. Aside from the other name mentioned, whom of which I didn't know just yet, I just couldn't see Garrus wanting blood. I'll admit, he was damn good at his job as a gumshoe for C-Sec and definitely a man dedicated to upholding the law, although his methods were a little questionable by protocol standards. He was harmless. A little rough around the edges, but like…teddy bear harmless. That's where my nickname of 'Garebear' came from.

Finally, I nodded.

"Good. Before you settle in, you need to understand that you are now a part of this team and _I_ am the authority. When I say jump, you jump. When I say shoot, you shoot. Are we clear?"

"Crystal." My hand had stealthily slithered to the holo lock on the door and I opened it, gracefully sliding out of his way.

Shepard cursed under his breath and stumbled into the mess, barely catching his balance before he face planted into the unforgiving metal. He shot me angrily narrowed eyes over his shoulder and I placed my hands defiantly on my hips.

"Understand one ting, spectre," I said through a chuckle that still hurt, "I'm not part of yar 'team'. I'm not part of yar little 'crew'. Nor am I allied wit the Alliance or the Council. I'm here for one reason and one reason only: to _kill_ Saren. No more, no less so understand _dat_, ya dig?"

Growling in annoyance, he turned to me and clasped his hands behind his back. I could plainly see he was butt-hurt bu the stiffness of the gesture, but I didn't care. It had made my trip if I died tomorrow.

"Fine." _Butt-hurt indeed_, "If you need your effects, take the elevator down to the shuttle bay. Your locker is the second one in from the left. When you want to sleep, there are the cryogenic pods. This is the mess hall and stocked with MREs if you need to eat. Take the time to settle in, orient yourself, and meet me in the comm room in an hour for debriefing with the crew on your recruitment. Until that times comes and I deem it safe, you will be under constant supervision."

He turned on his heel without another word and marched up the stairs. I knew this 'debriefing' would probably become a three-ringed circus, opening the proverbial Pandora's Box of issues with me roaming the ship unattended and causing hell. Not that I would, there's enough enlisted here for me to behave. Somewhat. And I had my suspicions that Garrus would be in the job, watching my fuckin' every move.

_Problematic. _

I boarded the elevator and hoped that there was someone on this cruiser that didn't have a stick up their ass like Garrus and Shepard that I could shoot the shit with until this was over, but I figured it was wishful thinking at best.

* * *

Commander Shepard stood against the FTL communicator in the war room and looked over his growing band of misfits. He had quite the colorful team, if I did say so myself. There was a young quarian on pilgrimage, a turian ex C-Sec detective, a krogan bounty hunter, two Alliance Marines, and me. I knew the Alliance would probably bury him alive for having non-humans and galactic degenerates on the ship, but I don't think he cared. He wanted to bring Saren to justice, no matter the cost. This was the cost.

Garrus was the first one to break the awkward silence.

"Are you sure Olivia can be trusted? I mean, she's a pirate for spirit's sake." he poked an accusatory talon in my direction, but his voice stayed neutral.

In my defense, I heard Urdnot Wrex snort dismissively. "And I'm a bounty hunter working for the Shadow Broker, _turian_. But if Shepard trusts her, then it should be good enough for you."

I shook my head at the turian's insistence to mar my name to anyone who would hear him out.

"How do _you_ know this?" the question came from Ashley, who couldn't help but give me curious looks.

_I'll have to deal with this one, I'm sure of it. But now, the simple version._

"'Cause," I said smugly and gestured between me and Wrex, "_we_ might be outlaws, criminals, professional guns-for-hire, and whatever negative epithets ya can conjure. That doesn't mean we don't have our own personal set of moral codes and rules _we_ live by."

Garrus leaned forward. "I was under the impression that _you_ don't have morals."

Tali'Zorah, the young quarian, decided to jump on the _defense of Olivia_ train wreck as I face-palmed.

"She's not as bad as you are making her seem, detective. Ms. Marcellus helped me to Dr. Michel's clinic before I set out to find Fist and I might have died if she hadn't helped me."

"In addition to dat," I mirrored Garrus's frustration, "I _gave_ ya da lead to Chloe. Without dat, we wouldn't all be sitting here and Shepard wouldn't be da first human spectre. So you owe me…_dacha._"

"Wait a minute here," Shepard raised his hand in disbelief, "so you're telling us that if not for you, then _none_ of this would have come to frution?"

I scratched my head because I was just as flabbergasted. "I guess?"

Shepard shifted his stance. "Please explain, because I think we all want to know."

"O…kay." I took in a breath. "I was headed to da Presidium's lower markets to pick up da false ID that would get me past Customs and off da Citadel when I spotted Tali. She was bleeding profusely, delirious, and wandering da hallways, muttering someting about Saren while begging _someone _to help her." I could hear Tali snort, agreeing with my statement. "Of course, no one ever _cares_ about quarians 'cause dey are labeled as vagrants and 'suit rats' and most people are fuckin' stupid."

I intentionally glared at Garrus and directed it towards him for emphasis, "so da pirate, wit no fuckin' morals whatsoever _you_ say, took a side route and carried her, _over my shoulder_, to da upper wards and into Chloe's clinic. Den I stayed long enough to overhear her talking about dat recording and finding Fist. If I hadn't, C-Sec wouldn't have intercepted me and I would have been long gone."

Kaidan chimed in. "Wait, you just _gave_ him the lead?"

Garrus spoke in my stead. "I had just been handed the case on Saren when Chellick and I had been called down to investigate a shooting involving her and a few of Fist's thugs. When we arrived on the scene, I spotted Olivia headed for the docking bays. I caught up to her and in exchange for her freedom, she gave me the lead."

"You let her go because she just _gave_ you information? Not four hours earlier you wanted to arrest her." Shepard shifted his stance.

Garrus shrugged. "Oh, don't get me wrong. She deserves to be arrested for other reasons." I snorted and Garrus continued unfazed, "But here's the thing: she mentioned she had a lead to information on Saren. Remember, spectre files are classified and I was desperate for information."

"Alright, I get dat NOW," again, I focused my aggression towards Garrus, "but tell me why no more den an hour later C-Sec was on my ass and I hadn't done _anything_?"

Again, Garrus shrugged and gave me one of his bratty smirks, which annoyed me further. "I don't know. I never put out the call. Maybe Chel did."

"Likely story." I rolled my eyes. "Although I have never, _ever_ failed you or Chel in the past when you two needed something like information that you couldn't obtain. You still don't trust me because I'm a_ pir-ate_." I said the latter in an angry, singsong manner.

"Yes," Garrus shot back, "I don't trust you because you are known for stabbing people in the back."

"I've never stabbed you in the back, have I? I've been nothing but helpful. But you, you're just jealous that-"

"Regardless," thankfully, Shepard interrupted me from spilling the main reason that Garrus hated me, "whatever her past was is nonexistent now. As a token of gratitude and since she decided to aid us in this investigation, she has been pardoned." He rubbed his forehead tiredly, "Any _other _concerns that need to be addressed?"

The room fell gravely silent. Garrus sat back into his seat, his mandibles flicking in thought, about how he could probably kill me and get away with it I assumed. Kaidan and Ashley were staring at me in something between shock and horror, no surprise. Tali and Wrex were unreadable, again, no surprise since Tali had a mask and Wrex was just…krogan. I was the only one making a sound as I was tapping my foot impatiently against the floor.

"You can do that sir…as a spectre I mean?" Ashley asked when she turned back to the commander.

"Yes, I can." Shepard smirked and changed the subject, "Now since we are all copasetic, Ms. Marcellus, please tell them why I recruited you."

I reiterated what I had told Shepard in the med bay – strategically leaving out the Alliance sensitive information and any allusion to my background and during the explanation, something occurred to me.

_This is gonna be fan-fuckin-tastic._

Being on the Normandy would be similar to being an alcoholic in a rehab program. It was an Alliance vessel, so there was probably no Jack Daniels No. 7, let alone _any_ controlled substances. I couldn't indulge in my usual vices and was ostensibly being forced to play by the rules. But rules were meant to be broken and I planned to shatter them into little pieces once I got some red sand in my possession.

The moment I was finished explaining myself, Kaidan turned to me, those big brown eyes filled to the brim with sympathy.

"That's got to be a great load to bear. How do you cope with it all?"

"Perseverance, determination to save your own ass, and a shit-ton of alcohol." I joked and Wrex's deep knowing chuckle sounded from the other side of the room.

Kaidan, Ashley, and Tali stifled little chuckles and Shepard cleared his throat, bringing us back to the task at hand.

"Listen up, people. Right now we are en route to Therum to recruit, and possibly rescue, an asari doctor that specializes in Prothean archaeology. She might know something about the conduit but with Olivia's information, we know now that the Reapers are definitely involved and they are a viable threat."

Everyone nodded in a copasetic understanding and Shepard held his hand up. "Garrus, Olivia, you two stay behind for groundside mission briefing. Everyone else is dismissed."

The rest of the crew filtered out and Shepard addressed the two sets of confused looks standing before him.

"I specifically chose you two as my ground team for this mission because I want test your skills." He turned to the brooding turian, "Garrus, can I trust you to work with her amicably or do I have to sit you out on this one?"

The turian's eyes wandered from me to Shepard. "If it means I get to see some action, then I suppose it wouldn't hurt." He folded his arms and lowered his eyes. "But I still don't quite trust her yet."

"Don't hate, _dacha_." I placed my hands on my hips and turned away as I was unable to look at the turian in the eyes and _not_ be tempted to smack the shit out of him.

"That's good enough for me." Shepard then turned to me. "Ensign Marcus Griego is outside these doors, he will be monitoring you. Since you used to have your own ship, go talk shop with our flight lieutenant Joker. He might have a need for you in the helm. I want you two as far away as possible."

I nodded in understanding, but I was pissed I had a babysitter. He then turned back to Garrus. "Make sure the Mako is ready for its first mission. I need the cannon _and_ the machine gun ready for a fight."

Without anything else to say to us, he nodded one last time in our general direction. "You two are dismissed."

Garrus straightened up and saluted the right way, like the kiss ass he was. In contrast, I shot the commander that two-fingered and half-assed salute I always gave the general, then I turned on my heel and left the room.

Somewhere en route to my destination and with the follower, it became all too weird for me.

_A pirate, free to roam on an Alliance ship? Squeeeee…so much trouble I can get into._

I couldn't finish my thought as the moment I hit the main floor of the CIC, an older, balding man who looked like he'd seen better days, greeted me with an overly eager outstretched hand.

"Name's Pressly, Charles Pressly," he said energetically as I neared, "I'm the XO and the navigator on this ship. Welcome aboard."

I knew I had to bury my concerns with hand-shaking. Usually humans (or Mimi when she felt like being overly touchy) greeted members of the same species with hugs or outstretched hands and it was annoying as hell. At least it was handshakes this time; I really didn't know what to do if a hug were involved. On the other hand I figured, when in Rome…

I took the outstretched hand, gripping it tighter and more awkwardly than I intended since I wasn't used to the gesture. "My name's Olivia. Olivia Marcellus."

Pressly nodded and returned to the panel in front of him. "Olivia, hmm? It's nice to see more humans aboard the ship, even though you used to be a pirate. Were you raised on Earth?"

I chuckled and leaned my ass against the metallic surface. Just by the tone of his voice I could tell that he harbored an undercover case of xenophobia and probably because of the Relay 314 incident (I really had to get used to calling it the First Contact War around humans) like most elders. He seemed like he'd be about the age.

_And people wondered why I always hid my true colors_.

"Eh. I'm a…uh…colony…kid." I stammered and _was_ telling the truth, except leaving out the part that the colony was Invictus and my parents were turian.

"I understand. Colonial life is rough." He paused for a moment. "By the way, I heard Shepard assigned you to the helm." the XO leaned closer to me and lowered his voice, "Let me give you a nickel's worth of free advice: the flight lieutenant is an asshole. Don't take _anything_ he says seriously."

I smiled coyly at my frowning assigned babysitter, Ensign Marcus Griego, I remembered. "If he's anything like the pilot for the Rose, then he shouldn't be a problem."

Ensign Griego rolled his eyes in response.

"I understand. If you need anything else, just let me know." Pressly replied, accompanied with a nod.

I shot him a one of my smirks and continued my journey with my personal follower trailing a considerable distance behind me. The moment I crossed the threshold of the helm, my ears were greeted by the raspy and sardonic voice of who I assumed was the pilot.

"Our resident gossip king tells me that you're a pirate? Is 'arrrr matey' in your vocabulary because I heard it's all the rage in the pirating world these days?"

_Finally._

I snorted and sat down to his right to face him, directly in front of the co-pilot's panel.

"No, it's not," I smirked, my tone as playful as I could muster, "I don't have a talking parrot, a peg leg, or an eye patch eider. But you? How about a nice big cup of shut the _futar_ up?"

"What?" He said as he laughed his ass off.

"Futar means 'fuck', futtari means 'fuckin''. Damnit man, keep up."

"Touché." Joker turned to me, "You're alright in my book."

"And what book is that, the book of _Horrible Jokes and Comebacks, Vol. 1_?" I teased lightly, my grin widening as I could see the gears in his head working with a comeback.

"No," Joker eventually shot me a pointed finger, his words dripping in sarcasm, "but my _faaaavorite_ book on the extranet is _Pirates and How They Get Caught by ex C-Sec Detectives on Alliance Vessels_."

"Damn, I thought you'd get on me for my accent." I said in a flirtatious manner.

I half expected the flight lieutenant to scold me, since the Alliance was such a stiff organization, worse than the turians most days. But he didn't. He smiled and returned the flirt.

"You're accent is sexy, actually. But you do have bad enunciation though. You gotta fix that."

"Keep talkin', you _might _just say someting funny one day." I shot back.

We both broke out in a roar of laughter so loud that I was sure someone heard it all the way down in the engine room. For a moment, albeit a brief moment, it _did_ feel good to be in the presence of a like-minded individual and someone who shared my tactless sense of humor. I was like the turian flower I was named after, opening myself slowly as the sun rose in the distance. I felt almost free. Free of my past, free of Saren, and free of the hassles of my past.

But as my eyes settled on the holoscreen in front of me and Joker went through The Normandy 101 lecture in his teaching manner, not leaving out that this was _his_ ship since he was the 'best goddamn pilot in the Alliance fleet,' and I better help him keep that award, that little bitch in my head reminded me that I was just here to kill Saren. She reminded me that I shouldn't get involved, since I was notorious for having bad luck in that arena.

Nothing more, Nothing less.

However, I did make an unspoken promise to my crew. My fradu, Marcus, would pay handsomely for all the anguish he caused my crew, our padu, amila, and mada, and me. He would shed as mushc, if not more, blood than I did when In was marooned in the mutiny.

If I ever found him...

* * *

**A/N:**

**So we find that Shepard found a way to get Olivia on board, but how stable is she really? And will Garrus's conflicted emotions for her complicate the mission on Therum? See you next episode in: Points of Authority.**

**Ashley's quote: Ours not to reason why, ours but to do and die. – Alfred Lord Tennyson**

**_innupta_ – A Godfather, in human terms. In turian terms, sort of a servant and bodyguard, combined. Can act as a body-double if the person they're guarding needs a decoy.  
****_dacha_ – Extremely large crocodilians, about three times the size of a modern Nile crocodile. Name taken from Dakosaurus.**

**Please provide feedback. Thanks. XOXO**


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